Six Birthdays
by TrueAwesomeSauce
Summary: 5 times people of the Enterprise had or celebrated a birthday, and one time not. Sometimes birthdays are rough, and sometimes not so simple, you know? A story in 8 parts.
1. James T Kirk

Six Birthdays _(Part One for SBR, February 18)_

'No'? *sigh* Still 'no.' You can keep your litigators to yourself.

Birthday: _James T. Kirk_

Anybody who knew anything about James Tiberius Kirk of course knew his birthday. He was mostly glad that, when the day rolled around, they forgot what it was.

Jimmy hated his birthday. He avoided it however he could.

Jim got drunk on his birthday. Then he could forget that he had one.

His first year at the Academy, Jim Kirk had simply not shown up. He hadn't shown up to breakfast, he hadn't shown up to class, and he hadn't shown up for the Kelvin Memorial Service. His girlfriend, his instructors, and the various Starfleet Officials involved were not amused. Cadet Kirk didn't much care. So far he had shown up to everything else, and he figured that had to count for something. He had shown up for his life, thank you very much.

The next year, Bones McCoy had filed paperwork asserting that Cadet Kirk's absence on the day in question was due to a Medical Emergency. He told Jim, with dripping sarcasm, that he had had to get somebody in the Computer Science Department to hack in and delete the first version he'd sent 'cause he'd accidently put in the word "Unexpected" and damned if he was gonna get court-martialed, before he even got commissioned, over something as stupid as that.

The third year, Cadets Kirk and McCoy were busted. In their defense, they had been out on maneuvers and, having only just returned, they were a little sleep-deprived. Obviously, if they had been thinking clearly, they would have realized that the reason Starfleet had been able to send them all on maneuvers - on the ships of the main fleet - was that the powers-that-be had taken advantage of all of the personnel who were returning to San Francisco for the Anniversary. Further, they would have realized that having all of those extra personnel in town might increase the likelihood that they would run into some of those personnel and be recognized. They might even have realized that going to the bar where Kirk's parents had met, when they were cadets themselves, to finish out the evening was a bad idea. It is doubtful, however, that it would have occurred to them that Captain Christopher Pike would be at the same establishment… Pike was honoring the day in his own way; and, though he had started much later than the other two, he was one of Starfleet's finest: He carried it well, but the twinkle in his eye as he ordered them to sit down - because he was buying the next round - indicated that he was well on his way to catching up.

That year, the paperwork was filed by Pike after his hangover remedy had kicked in. It simply stated that they had been "unavoidably detained".

When Captain James T. Kirk arrived on the Bridge that morning, Commander Spock, his Chief Science Officer and Second-in-Command, stood and moved toward him. His posture was at its most formal. Impressed, and curious, Kirk looked around at the other members of the Bridge crew. They each met his eye and nodded: Obviously they knew what Spock had in mind, and agreed with it. The _Enterprise_ had been so busy on the edge of known Space that he hadn't even realized what day it was until Spock gravely intoned the words that were, clearly, on the lips of every one present, "Happy Birthday, Captain."

Later that evening, Kirk looked at the people gathered around the table in Rec Room One: Their faces were lit from below, and they were smiling. It occurred to him that every single one of them was genuinely happy to be here. (Okay, so sometimes, with some people, you had to take that as read…) He grinned. He was glad they'd remembered his birthday. And he was really glad he'd shown up.


	2. Nyota Uhura

Six Birthdays _(Part Two for WND, May 2)_

Birthday: _Nyota Uhura_

Nyota Uhura loved birthdays. She _really_ loved birthdays – hers, her family's, her friends' – even those of strangers on the street. If she knew it was your birthday, she'd take the opportunity to tell you that she was thankful you were born.

Any birthday was a good birthday as far as Uhura was concerned.

Over the years, her idea of the 'perfect birthday' had changed.

As a toddler, she supposed, it was the cake and ice cream she'd liked best. When she had started bringing boyfriends home, her parents had laughed and said that they were saving the best First Birthday picture to share with her most serious beau as a test of his affections. They said that if the smears and crumbs didn't scare him off, then he could see beyond her beauty, and be prepared for anything. That, they said, would be a man worth having.

When she was a small child, she'd liked the wrappings. Even then she had loved the thought that they were never meant to last – and had no purpose beyond causing anticipation and delight.

When she was a bit bigger, she'd liked the presents. She was no longer embarrassed to admit that she liked the presents. She liked receiving them, sure, but even more, she liked giving them. There was something so very satisfying about the whole process. Even now, even on a ship far out in Space, she would take advantage of shore leave to buy things for the people whose birthdays were coming up, or to lay in a stock of supplies to make something special. In the end, if nothing else, each gift Uhura gave carried with it the message that she loved you, and had been thinking about you.

When she was older, she had looked forward to the parties and bashes that were thrown for her friends. And, if she were honest, she had always thought that they compared poorly to the huge rambunctious family gatherings that marked such occasions in the extended Uhura clan.

As a teenager, her friends – or boyfriends - had tried to coax her into coming out with them instead of celebrating with her family. At first she had been annoyed; but when she realized that this was, of itself, an expression of their own affection for her, she had simply started inviting them home, instead. She had eventually realized that accepting – and surviving – an Uhura family birthday invitation was a pretty fair acid test for the quality of those friends and friendships. The testing wasn't deliberate, to be sure, but it was real nonetheless.

The thing about birthdays was that that was what they were for: The celebration of your own love for other people, and of their love for you.

As a Cadet studying Communications, she had begun to realize that birthdays are an almost universal constant. Almost every culture celebrates birthdays in some way or another, and those ways are invariably interesting. Even the few rare cultures that don't actually _celebrate_ birthdays often have some custom or rite or _som_ething associated with them. And, if _not_, then that was invariably interesting, too…

When Nyota was little she had gotten into an argument with one of her older cousins. He routinely bossed her and teased her and tried to get her into trouble. Tired of his tricks, she had confronted him, balling her fists and stamping one small foot. Unaware of the silence that had fallen in the room, Nyota had hurled a challenge of her own, the horrific words the worst her childish mind could formulate: "What are you going to do? Take away my _birthday_?"

It had become part of her family lore. It was the ultimate threat that kept them all in line.

When she went away to the Academy, her parents made sure she knew about the happenings at the family birthdays. For her own, they would all still gather, and call. Her cousin would be one of the first to speak, and he would say, with his face mostly straight, that he was calling to see whether she still had a birthday. The call would end with an admonition to behave, because, well, it would be a shame if one of the Starfleet doctors had to learn to perform a birthdayectomy. Just in case, though, they'd say, she'd better enjoy this one…

When she went into Space, they'd get word to her if they could. If the distance was too great, she knew that they were all at Home, thinking of her, thankful that she was born – and boisterously celebrating the fact that she'd had another birthday.


	3. Gaila 1

Six Birthdays _(Part Three for MLW, January 27)_

Birthday

_Gaila (1)_

The first time Gaila had seen Uhura knitting, she had stared. Stared, then laughed.

"Seriously, Uhura? You _knit_? Who _does_ that anymore!"

As industriously as she did everything else, Uhura ignored her.

For a few days after that, Gaila would snigger whenever she looked in Uhura's direction. Not in class, of course, because that would be just plain rude.

Soon, though, Uhura saw that, as long as the Orion could keep her 'friends' out of their common space, Gaila was actually a pretty decent roommate.

Their friendship started the day Uhura finished with that luxurious butterscotch merino: Gaila was telling her about her exploits with the flavor-of-the-week, unaware that Uhura was only still sitting there listening because she was eager to get her cardigan done. The bind-off she had chosen was the perfect finishing touch, and her satisfaction with it made her a little giddy… Gaila had paused for effect, and before Uhura could stop them the words were out: "Seriously, Gaila? You were wearing _panties_? Who _does_ that anymore!"

Gaila had stared at her like she had suddenly turned green. Stared, then laughed.

By the time the first cold days of Winter arrived, Gaila had decided she looked great in merino. She was wrong: Uhura was planning to make her something with the last of that wool – in an effort to reclaim the hooded sweater her roommate was trying to annex. They basked in the rare bright San Francisco sun on a bench outside the Engineering Department, while Uhura idly doodled cable patterns on the grid of her padd.

Their friendship was cemented when one of Gaila's more fervid admirers turned his unwelcome attention to her roommate. Hearing that Uhura was in Communications, he became the latest smirking deliverer of an oh-so-original remark about "talented tongues." With her patented leer and suggestive drawl, Gaila replied, "Yeah, but you should_ see_ what she can do with her _hands_" – leaving him speechless, staring after them, as they made their escape.

With the arrival of Spring, the Orion agreed to go with Uhura to the yarn shop – her consent given only in response to the promise of a 'uniquely sensual experience.' Unbeknownst to Gaila, they were picking out the wool for her birthday gift.

Their second year at the Academy, they made a laughing pact to remain friends: The two of them had fewer classes together; they were beginning their specializations. Though Uhura routinely met the expectations of her professors, that Spring she exceeded them. She secretly thanked Gaila: Starting late due to unannounced maneuvers, and desperate to complete this year's celebratory offering, she had had to knit almost non-stop. In the sensor labs she had discovered that having her hands busy made it much easier to concentrate both her hearing and her mind.

Their third year, Uhura had started her new project in January. She had planned the perfect birthday gift, and couldn't wait. She would make Gaila tall, tall socks – stockings, really – in colors to delight her magpie soul, with lacework clocks up the sides, and picot edging above the rows of ribbing mid-thigh. Gaila would just die! She got out her tiny needles, and cast on…

This, Gaila thought, was too much, and told Uhura so. No one should try to do something useful with one toothpick – much less with 5. Once again Uhura ignored her and smiled to herself. She continued her pattern: knit, knit, purl, purl, repeat to the end of the round… She knew. Oh, yes, she knew.

The end of the year came, and as they packed to leave for the Summer holiday, Uhura called a halt and dragged her friend out to a festive lunch. While they waited for dessert, she had handed over the package.

Gaila had laughed. She swiftly destroyed the bow, shredded the wrappings, threw aside the lid - and stared.

"I made you socks," Uhura prompted.

Gaila was speechless. She lifted a single stocking out of the box, then did the one thing that brings instant delight to a knitter's soul: She lifted it to her cheek, and gently rubbed it across her skin, inhaling the natural fragrance of silk and wool...

"Socks?" Gaila asked, her eyes lifted wonderingly to Uhura's.

An ordinary pair of socks, Uhura told her, contained some 15,000 stitches, each one made lovingly by hand. This pair contained easily four times that number.

"I can't wear these," the other girl said, "They must have taken you forever."

"Well, yeah," Uhura admitted. "They did." Then she grinned. "I was thinking about the ridiculous things you do, though, so it didn't seem so long."

When Gaila's eyes filled, Uhura said, "But here's the thing, Gaila: Socks are meant to be worn. You'll wear them, and eventually they'll wear out. That's the other thing about socks: The more you love them, the faster they'll go… But you're the best friend I've ever had - I will always be here for you. When you're ready, I'll just make you another pair, okay?"

Laughing and crying at the same time, the two had clung to each other's necks.

When the Academy returned to session that Autumn, and Uhura saw her roommate for the first time after the break, the first thing she noticed was the wide grin – and the tall, tall socks.

This was to be their final year at the Academy. After this, they'd be posted to ships, or bases, or wherever in the Federation they were most needed. Uhura thought and thought about her gift for Gaila, but nothing seemed to be just right.

She had cause that year, to be grateful for Gaila's unquestioning loyalty. Uhura had begun working closely with one of her professors, and her roommate was there for her as she poured out all of the frustration, hope, and confusion that she felt when she was with him. It was to Gaila that Uhura reported the things she learned about Vulcan culture, and Gaila who understood the things she couldn't say.

By the time the first cold days of Winter returned, Uhura had an inkling what she might want to make: Gaila had decided, once again, that she looked great in stolen butterscotch merino. She was still wrong: Uhura was planning to make the Orion a sweater of her own - just like the cardigan she'd made that first year. Well, almost.

They basked in the rare bright San Francisco sun on a bench outside the Computer Science Department. Uhura idly doodled cable patterns on the grid of her padd.

Commander Spock emerged to solemnly accompany them to the mess hall, and, imagining how the three of them must appear to anyone bothering to look, Uhura had had an epiphany: She would make Gaila's sweater the charcoal grey of the Instructors' uniforms (the color that Gaila had declared her very favorite, from the first time she had seen the Commander stride into view – long before Uhura had claimed him) and she'd edge it with the red of the Cadets'. Fitting it like a glove, she would make cables down the front, spelling out Gaila's name in Orion characters. Her fingers itched, and she knew then that her idea was perfect.

All that Winter and well into the Spring, Uhura covertly worked on Gaila's birthday sweater.

Spock had asked about the project; and she had explained - her earnest voice warming as she spoke - that making a sweater was, really, the highest of the knitter's arts: Sweaters were created with the best materials, and with the greatest care. As a gift, made with thought, one formed a bond between maker and recipient, wrapping the latter in comfort when the two were apart. Well cared-for, a good sweater could out-last its maker, and its wearer. These ideas had fit well with the philosophies of Spock's homeworld, and he seemed, somehow, to relax, knowing they had a basic understanding.

She took the sweater with her to Spock's apartment, and knitted while they worked, and talked: She found that he seemed more open when he did not think she was studying him. With her hands busy, too, she discovered, once again, that she was able to concentrate her senses and her thoughts – and listen to the things that Spock did not say, as much as the things he did.

She secretly thanked Gaila for their growing rapport.

Uhura finished her gift early that year. Spock had taken her to dinner on the strength of it, and her combined elation made her impulsively take his arm as they walked home. He did not draw away from the uninvited contact.

Carefully wrapping the sweater, she carried it back to the room she and Gaila still shared, and hid the package in the top of her closet, where - even during her most daring wardrobe raids - her roommate would be unlikely to stumble across it.


	4. Gaila 2

Six Birthdays _(Part Four for SLR, January 8)_

Birthday: _Gaila (continued)_

After the encounter with Nero, the _Enterprise_ limped home. Uhura was overwhelmed with the loss of Vulcan, the loss of the secondary fleet, the loss of Spock's mother. She carefully tried to keep her emotions in check, so as not to burden Spock any further.

With an embrace, their relationship had taken an unexpected turn. She gave him the space and silence he obviously needed, even as she shared his bed. For his part, he was gentle, even kind - but remote. If she had not been devastatingly aware of what he had lost, she might have had a hard time seeing any difference between this man and the instructor she had first come to admire. Though she was hopeful for their future, she knew that he must be grieving in a way she could not even begin to understand. The pain was too immediate, and though she gave him physical comfort, there was now a part of him that she could not reach.

She understood, somehow, that she was on the outside looking in, and that perhaps she could never share his pain because she could not relate to it.

Until she walked into her room on campus, she had not really thought beyond that.

It struck her then that Gaila was dead.

The half of the room that had seemed too small to hold Gaila's vivid personality – much less her flamboyant clutter – was empty and sterile, packed by some well-meaning Starfleet aide in the aftermath of the battle.

Gaila was gone.

She, Nyota Uhura, had survived only because Commander Spock, in a moment of weakness, had been unable to deny her demand to serve aboard the _Enterprise_. By all rights, she should have died on the _Farragut_, the ship she had been assigned to, along with her friend.

How could she tell Spock that she was grateful?

What would he feel, if he knew that she had made that connection?

She looked around the room, trying to assess what she should take with her, what should go into storage. She was to return to the ship; and, on campus, the term would be ending soon. Come Autumn, this room would be assigned to two new recruits…

Mechanically, she began to pack.

She tried to ignore the few things of Gaila's that had crept over and hidden themselves amongst her own belongings in the years they had shared this space. Hesitating to touch the gaudy relics, she put them on the empty bed: A bright scarf, a dress both too tight and too shiny (but which Gaila had insisted was perfect for her), a cable-knit cap of butterscotch wool…

Uhura dashed for the bathroom, and retched. Unable to look in the mirror, she took heaving gulps of air, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth. When she thought she could walk, she went back to the bedroom. Grimly, she continued her packing.

She was almost done when she found the package. The desk was cleared, the boxes stacked, and all that remained was to empty the closet and strip the bed. She made short work of the clothes, and stood on tiptoe to sweep her hands across all of the empty shelves. Not all of them were empty. Gaila's birthday gift came tumbling out, and hit her with all the raw force of a torpedo blast. She collapsed in a heap, sobbing. A tiny part of her mind wondered whether this might be hysteria, before it, too, surrendered to the torrent.

She did not hear Spock's arrival, was not aware of him as a person at all – Just a pair of long arms that surrounded her, lifted her, held her close. His body was warm and comforting; his scent familiar. He was silent, as always, but his presence spoke volumes. He stayed with her, his strong arms folded around her, as the first paroxysms of grief abated. He brushed her hair back from her face, and pressed his lips to her forehead; wrapped his arms more securely about her. He did not need to speak.

She was safe, and he was here.

Her breathing began to return to normal, and eventually her vision cleared. When she was able to take note of her surroundings, she shifted, to look at him. His face was downcast, and she could not see him clearly. She raised one hand and gently, hesitantly, touched the side of his jaw. He turned to meet her eyes, and her heart thought, just for a moment, of stopping. The moment lasted forever; then he breathed in, and tilted his head to touch his forehead to hers. "_Tushah nash-veh k'odu_," he said, "I grieve with thee."

When she awoke the next morning, her limbs were heavy. She felt as though she would never shed another tear. Though he had stayed through the long night, with morning's light Spock had gone, taking with him the package and the few items that needed to be sent to Gaila's family. The part of her that was not numb was grateful for his thoughtfulness.

During the next year, grief would assault her in unexpected waves. She would be fine, even laughing; then suddenly, she would be gasping for air. Spock's ability to read her was uncanny, and though he spoke little, she knew he understood completely.

For all that, it was a good year, and she was happy.

She and Spock spent most of the free time they had together in his quarters. She used her own to visit with friends, or when they both had projects that required concentration.

She enjoyed her work, and the busy-ness seemed to keep the grief at bay. It didn't come often, now, and the depth and duration lessened; but whenever realization hit, Spock's eyes would meet hers, and he would move toward her, soundlessly enfolding her in his arms.

She found herself loving him more than she would have imagined possible.

On Earth, the anniversary of the destruction of Vulcan came and went. The _Enterprise_ Crew were glad to be in Deep Space: No one here was expecting anything from them, no one here watched for a reaction. No one drew the date to the attention of their Vulcan First Officer. But Uhura knew: In the privacy of his quarters, his eyes met hers. She was the one to move to him with arms outstretched, though she was painfully aware that his was the strength.

Weeks later, just after midnight, he came to her door. She was not on duty the next morning; she was still awake. The difference between this Spock and the one who had left the Bridge a short time ago was shocking. This was Spock at his most rigidly Vulcan. He was not dressed in traditional robes, but his manner was formal. With an impassive face, he took her hand to draw her with him. When she complied, he dropped it and silently led the way.

At the door to his quarters, he paused, and allowed her to precede him. She stopped just inside the doorway and closed her eyes so they'd adjust more quickly to the difference in light levels. When she opened them, Spock was standing before her. Focusing on his face, she let him draw her further into the room. They stood near the desk, and the small couch they so often shared. He took one step toward her. Gravely, he touched her chin, and tilted her face up toward him. He lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her deeply. In his lips, she could feel all of the things that she imagined he wanted to say. His arms closed around her. He held her to him for long moments, before releasing her and turning to the desk. When he faced her again, he was expressionless, unreadable. He was holding something in his hands.

Startled, she looked down. There, still in its bright wrappings, was her gift for Gaila. Of course, Spock had remembered: Today was Gaila's birthday. How had she forgotten?

Her knees went weak. Before the information fully reached her brain, Spock was guiding her to the couch. She sat, and he sat beside her. Then, as he did so often, he drew her onto his lap. He held her close, his chin on her head. She sat stiffly for a moment or two, then wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. As she had before, on too many occasions to count, she wept as thought her heart were breaking. Perhaps it was – But it was healing, too.

When the storm had passed, Spock pressed his lips to her hair, and turned her face to his once more. He ran two fingers gently from her forehead to her chin, and, voice low, said the formal Vulcan words of mourning.

She responded, with words that she had learned in some Academy class forever ago, and never expected to have to know: "_Heh nash-veh k'odu_": "And I, with thee."

He had kissed her, again, then, and drew her tight against him.

They sat for a long time in silence.

Then, as Uhura felt the last of the tension leaving her body, she heard Spock ask, his voice uncharacteristically tentative, "Nyota, will you tell me about your friend Gaila?"

She knew his memory was better than hers - that he had met her friend, and had heard her tales before.

But her story was her own, and she had treasured that friendship. So, Nyota told Spock about Gaila.

He was a good listener, and a receptive audience.

She was surprised when Spock volunteered some stories of his own. She'd forgotten that Gaila had been his student, and had worked closely with him on various assignments. Although Uhura loved him, she was surprised, too, that his sober Vulcan way of speaking was able to convey to her all of the vibrancy of Gaila's unfettered passion for life.

She found herself laughing at Gaila's shameless antics and outrageous words. Spock unbent further, and very subtly poked fun at his own reactions: His dry tone invited her to find humor in the Clueless Vulcan Instructor who had been the target of Gaila's scheming.

She laughed. She laughed until she howled, until she couldn't breathe from laughing. The helpless tears ran down her face. Clutching her stomach, she gasped for air.

Spock solemnly raised one eyebrow, and kissed her.

Long after ship's dawn, when she was limp from all the laughing, Spock, still cradling her in his arms, had reached one hand out and collected Gaila's package. He had handed it to her, and when her eyes met his, he nodded once.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the bow. As she hesitated, he raised his hand until it was supporting hers. Even in this tiny thing, he would lend her his strength.

Picturing Gaila as she unwrapped the sweater, Uhura remembered how she had dreamt of this moment, planned for it, worked toward it. Though she hadn't been conscious of it at the time, she'd intended this to be Gaila's symbol of their friendship whilst the Orion started her new life on some starship somewhere. As Uhura lifted the gift from the box, she faltered. Recovering, she raised the cardigan to her cheek, and gently rubbed it across her skin, inhaling the natural fragrance of sha'mi and merino wool…

Spock had caught the scent, too, and he froze, just for a second. Then he was taking the sweater from her hands and wrapping it around her shoulders. Like a child, she lifted her arms and let him draw the long sleeves over them.

Exhausted, still wearing Gaila's sweater, Uhura fell asleep not long after that. Spock carried her to the bed. After carefully arranging her in her favored sleeping position, he curled himself protectively around her.

He, too, slept.

Nyota woke late in ship's evening. Her heart felt lighter than it had for as long as she could recall.

She rolled over, and found that Spock was beside her, and - unusual for him, once she stirred - still asleep. She rarely had the opportunity to look at him unheeded. She smiled to think that this was one more gift from Gaila. She looked and looked, and when the urge to kiss him became too great, she got up. She performed an abbreviated version of her morning routine; then, taking off Gaila's sweater, went back to the bed. Lying beside Spock, she shifted until her body was aligned with his. As she pressed herself along his length, his black eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and one straight brow gave the tiniest of twitches. She pressed her lips to his, and before he was even truly awake, he returned the pressure.

When his eyes had opened, and were focusing on her smiling face, she asked him gently if he was hungry. "No," he answered simply.

"Good," she said. The twitchy eyebrow had started to rise, so she continued quickly, "Orions don't really do the whole birthday-meal thing."

"No?" he asked. His face was Vulcan-straight, but his voice revealed his amusement.

Boldly (hoping it was the truth) she said "No," then pushed him onto his back. She straddled him, and leaned down to breathe into one sensitive ear, "Do you know how Orions _do_ celebrate birthdays?"

He had responded drily, "I can only imagine."

She had laughed at that. She placed a hand on either side of his face and planted one loud wet kiss on his lips. "Spock," she said, with an impudent grin, "I hope you can do more than that."


	5. Spock

Six Birthdays _(Part Five for EGW, July 16)_

Birthday: _Spock_

Vulcans didn't celebrate birthdays. Uhura knew that.

And yet, when Spock came onto the Bridge that morning, she was disappointed. As he often did, he moved a few steps away from the turbolift and turned to look at the view screen, his hands behind his back. He stood there alone for a few moments – seeing, thinking, feeling what? she wondered, as she often did – then turned to move to the Captain's side. The two exchanged a few words.

She knew Kirk was not going to say the ones she was half-willing from him. He probably had no idea it was his First Officer's birthday.

To be fair, it was a complex calculation, and he had probably had no reason to ever think of making it. But still, she wished he had.

She knew that when they finished, Spock would move forward, first, to stand to the left, behind Sulu. Today, with the Captain in the Command Chair, his slow, grave circuit of the stations of the Bridge would be conducted counter-clockwise. He would never pass in front of the Captain's view…

Slowly, gravely, he stepped forward. She knew that he preferred this particular tempo as it gave time enough to capture in his mind's eye all of the data visible on each screen, without wasting any extra. The fact that he kept moving meant that he would not interrupt the work being done – nor become the recipient of unnecessary remarks.

He would only still for a second or two near Sulu (and again, at the end, near Chekov), the most likely to offer something of significance.

When he passed the port side turbolift, he would catalogue the data obtained so far.

As he paced past the bay holding his station, and her own, his chin would have lowered slightly: He would be completing the formulation of a matrix which further data would complete.

If, as he passed the entrance to the starboard corridor, a particular line of inquiry intrigued him, he would stop, for the space of one second, one stride past the doors. Today, nothing did.

While he stepped from Chekov's console to his own, all acquired data would be committed to memory and he would prepare the course of his own investigations.

As he approached, she would turn slightly in her seat so that his view of her monitors would be unobstructed.

Some days, he would nod his appreciation of her consideration before taking his seat.

Some days, he would be too engaged, and would sit immediately.

And some days, he would allow himself to linger for a second near her shoulder, before reaching one arm to turn his chair.

As he approached, she turned slightly in her seat so that his view of her monitors would be unobstructed. She wanted to remark that she knew it was his birthday – but she didn't: She knew it was unnecessary.

Today, he didn't sit. He wasn't on duty.


	6. Spock 2

Six Birthdays _(Part Six for MCF, February 16)_

Birthday: _Spock (continued)_

All the rest of that shift, as she completed scans, relayed information, and listened to the non-silence of interstellar space, Uhura pictured Spock's route through the ship.

Now, he would be walking through the Chemistry Lab, now Physical Sciences. He would pace silently through Sickbay, and then to the Medical Labs. Since he was not on duty, he would not interfere with the functions of the personnel at work, but simply note what he saw for follow-up later. If asked a question, he would stop and graciously give whatever assistance was desired.

The guys in Astrophysics, she knew, would be excited to calculate the appropriate day to celebrate the Vulcan's birth. They were terrified of him, true, but only because they admired him… However, they would have to have reason to think of it – and the starting data from which to extrapolate. But why would they? She knew that his passage through their domain would be just as silent as that of any other section of the ship.

Unless someone had need of his abilities, Spock would walk every corridor unimpeded – and unheeded.

Impatiently, Uhura looked at her monitors. In one corner of one screen was the formula she had created. Frowning slightly, she erased it: It didn't matter – She already knew. 408 days to her 365.25 - 28.17 hours to her 24. 3.5 hours' sleep to her 8… And what? 250 years to her 115? No. None of that mattered. Today, today was what mattered.

Before she had thought through her actions, her feet were carrying her to the Captain's side. She heard her voice requesting that he excuse her for the rest of her shift, saying that she could have a relief to the Bridge in a minute. Saw his brow wrinkle just a bit, as though he were wondering whether he should ask if something was wrong, then clear as he smiled a little and said "Sure, Uhura, no problem."

She walked unhurriedly to Spock's quarters, so that her breathing and heart-rate wouldn't elevate and disturb him – He would not be expecting her at this time. She quietly let herself in. As she knew he would be, he was in meditation.

He knelt; his form composed, his face peaceful, serene.

He remained motionless. He must know she was here, yet he was not discomfited.

She went to the mirror and looked at herself for a moment. Her image did not reflect anything but simple calm. She thought he would not become concerned. She loosened her hair, letting it fall down her back and over her shoulders. She smoothed it with a brush. On duty, she always wore it pulled back in some way - he would know that this was for him.

She pulled off her boots and carried them to the closet. Her things looked bright and exotic nestled amongst his own. Beside his inky black and charcoal clothes hung her favorite gown - the satin of its details gleaming against the texture of the crepe.

She stripped off her uniform and pulled the flame-colored silk over her head. The luxurious fabric felt heavy and cool as it fell around her hips. Although he had never said anything about it, she thought of this as his favorite, too. She would stand before him and he would say nothing, but slowly raise two careful fingers to trace along the lustrous bands.

She considered those Vulcan robes: Utilitarian objects made oddly precious now. She wondered whether their makers had perished, whether there were anyone left to make him another set when, in the course of his long life, these eventually wore out.

He had lost so much; so much already.

She lifted down her favorite, of fine _sha'mi_ wool. She was surprised, as always, by the weight. She ran one delicate finger over the embroidery that she knew carried his name and the name of his clan – gone, she knew, most of them, with most of their kind.

The Romulan encounter had taken from him nearly everything he valued. Spock had lost not just a planet, but his society, his position in life, the reference by which his interactions with others were understood.

She slipped the robe around her shoulders, wrapped herself in its folds.

Breathing in the scent of him carried by the garment, she was thankful he was born.

He had lost so much…

Vulcan was gone.

Spock had survived.

She crossed to where he knelt, heedless of her presence.

Opposite him, she knelt, her posture mirroring the formal Vulcan pose.

Composing herself, she waited.

His eyes slowly opened. She watched as his focus gradually turned outward. After a moment, he acknowledged her with a nod.

She smiled and returned the gesture.

He was safe, and she was here.

She was not going to let Nero take away his birthday.


	7. McCoy

Six Birthdays _(Part Seven for MM, February 22 )_

Birthday: _Leonard McCoy_

Leonard H. McCoy woke that morning in a foul temper. He had 32 reasons why it was going to be a doozy of a day, and he had zero desire to discuss any of them.

It didn't help any that he overslept – or that the morning would start with a meeting with the ship's Chief Science Officer. Bad enough Leonard had to see the Vulcan skulking through the medical facilities and poking an aristocratic nose into every nook and cranny – He had no desire to spend so much as 5 minutes alone in that company recounting disasters and justifying the decisions of his staff.

The over-grown elf would sit silently and stare at him, and McCoy would pour out all of the things he meant to hold back, that he didn't want to say. He always left these conferences wondering whether he would end up on Santa's 'good' list, or the 'bad.'

In spite of himself, he smiled.

Today, he was sure, would be no different. He wondered who at Starfleet headquarters had had the bright idea to put a soulless, passionless, colorless near-animatronic in charge of Medical Sciences.

He hurried to his office in Sickbay. He took secret delight every time he beat Spock there, and was able to be sitting 'patiently' awaiting his superior's arrival.

As he did every time he came to McCoy's office, Commander Spock appeared ahead of schedule. Leonard wondered whether the 3 minutes' time-frame was coincidental or deliberate. 'Deliberate,' he decided, looking up from the chronometer just as the Vulcan rounded the corner.

As Spock gracefully folded himself into the chair opposite, McCoy wondered, for about the two millionth time in the four months they had been serving together, what Uhura saw in him. He looked up, and saw that Spock's eyes were on him.

Leonard felt the familiar rush of doubt, guilt, and defensiveness.

Typically, Spock said nothing, just waited.

McCoy could tell he was going to make a damned fool of himself again. It pissed him right off that the mere presence in Sickbay of the stoic son-of-a-bitch made a mockery of the pain that was seen here.

He glanced down at the report in front of him, trying to decide what to cover first. He took a deep breath, and in that instant, Spock's name leapt from the page. In his mind's eye he saw the Commander's body being hauled into Sickbay, profuse green fluid spurting from deep lacerations and soaking his uniform. Spock had not complained as he was treated, hadn't questioned or even spoken – except to answer the queries put to him. At the end, he had gravely thanked the nurses, and collected himself to return to duty. The doctor secretly wondered whether, next time, he'd be able to keep the Vulcan alive.

Leonard raised his eyes and met Spock's level gaze.

Spock's chart, of course, reported 'Eyes: Brown.' Leonard knew they were black. In fact, he always thought of the Vulcan as a cold creature made of black and white. When someone was brought in for McCoy's professional attentions, the first thing to go was the colored Starfleet uniform. With Spock, this just added to his funereal severity.

Now, thinking of copious green blood on a bright blue tunic, he was surprised by those eyes. They were a rich, warm red-brown, brilliant in the pale black-framed face.

The Commander was waiting.

Leonard found himself wondering what Spock expected to hear, expected him to say. It occurred to him that he hadn't ever wondered before - and he had never bothered to ask.

By mid-morning, it really was shaping up to be a surprising day. (He wasn't going to curse it by using the word 'good.') He had completely caught up on paperwork, and dealt with an assortment of relatively superficial contusions. The worst injury was a twisted ankle from some kid who'd missed the last rung in Engineering. At his leisure to dream up a good rant, he'd managed to make clear to the hapless fool that such stupidity would not be tolerated.

Leonard realized that he had not had to clean up any blood - of any color - so far today.

At noon, Scotty stopped by, ostensibly to thank him for the care, and lecture, given his technician. He dropped into the visitor's chair, and pulled out a dusty bottle held surreptitiously out of sight until then. "A wee dram, Doctor," the Engineer had offered, "to your health."

The early afternoon was as uneventful as the morning. A number of visitors dropped by; but there were few professional calls, and all of those were minor. Still no blood. Leonard was beginning to officially count it a good day.

By mid-afternoon, he had decided to run his luck. He turned Sickbay over to an assistant and made for the labs. There was a research project he had had in mind for some time, and now, with nothing else pressing, it seemed an ideal time to start.

When alpha shift ended, the doctor was in hog-heaven. Captain Kirk came looking for him, and had to haul him, protesting, out of the lab to get him to eat. For once the tables were turned, and Jim got to listen to Leonard talk with excitement about his day. When the food was gone, Kirk handed him a small package, with a quirking grin.

After the early dinner, McCoy had declined a further invitation. He went back to his quarters to relax and read, but found himself restless. He threw his tunic back on, and headed for the lab.

An hour or two later, Spock appeared. The Vulcan had paced in, as soundless as ever, and stood for several seconds, considering, before advancing to the counter. Spock had wordlessly handed McCoy the equipment he needed, an instant before his conscious mind registered the need.

Working alongside the silent figure, Leonard found the Vulcan's calm presence oddly peaceful – His ordinary irritation faded away.

A couple of hours after that, Uhura joined them there. Clearly, she had come looking for Spock. She had stood in the doorway at their backs, watching, before approaching them. Respecting Spock's personal space, she stopped on his far side and leaned against the counter a few feet away. Her smile, as she looked up at him, was blissful.

McCoy went to the cabinet by the door to get another piece of equipment. When he turned back, Uhura was standing right at the Vulcan's side. She murmured something, and, as Spock turned to listen to her, Leonard could see one elegantly pointed ear.

The doctor cleared his throat noisily, but Spock did not halt his movement: One long arm continued to reach toward Uhura, and, for the space of a heartbeat, encircle her. She leaned into him for a moment, before his attention returned to his work, and she stepped away.

These two were so circumspect, so reserved, and so private, that Leonard recognized their trust in his discretion as the gift it was.

When he stepped back up to the counter again, on Spock's near side, he found himself grinning.

A few minutes before midnight, Uhura slid off the stool she'd been perched upon, and came up between them. Placing one hand lightly on the Vulcan's forearm, she quietly said, "Spock, it's late."

Spock nodded, and entered some final notes into the database. Then, with typical precision, he put his workspace in order.

Meanwhile, Uhura was turning to Leonard, giving him a bright, affectionate smile. At his surprised eyebrows, she laughed and gave him a quick hug and one joyous kiss. With Spock beside her, she turned to go - then paused and turned back. "Happy Birthday, Doctor McCoy," she said.


	8. And

Six Birthdays _(Part Eight for MET, September 22)_

_Birthday_

Vulcans did not celebrate birthdays.

People of Earth did.

Three weeks ago Spock had scheduled this day as a day of meditation. He had officially informed the Captain of his intentions, and been quietly pleased that his request had excited no interest nor garnered any attention.

Deliberately - as was his wont with any action he undertook - he dressed, dimmed the lights, and lit the flame that guided and enhanced his meditations. He waited.

He had always been observant, and appreciative of tradition. As a child, he had, on more than one occasion, witnessed the quiet ritual: His father made an unusually formal presentation of a small package to his mother. She received it equally formally, then, smiled. Still holding it, she looked deep into his father's eyes, and then threw her arms around him in an exuberant embrace. At this, his father's face took on that unique, mock-deprecating expression he assumed only for her; then it cleared. They would sit, and she would unwrap the small package, exclaiming over its contents and demonstrating her appreciation for them by lifting them with careful, caressing hands from their container. In his memory, only the details would change: Most notably the size of the package, its coverings, its contents…

He had always possessed an affinity for numbers. They spoke to him, and he commanded them. When he was small, very small indeed, he had developed a fascination for - and thoroughly explored the concept of – Time: How it was expressed, and how it was experienced. He had recognized early on the disparity between the two cultures of his divided heritage, and had deliberately set out to embrace that dichotomy, and allow it to become encompassed within his person. He had developed his innate Vulcan ability to mentally mark time, exercised it in its Earth and Federation permutations. Now, as an adult, he found this ability useful.

Occasionally he even indulged himself by startling his companions with his perfect sense of timing.

Even now - wherever he was, whether on the _Enterprise_ herself or elsewhere; whatever he was doing, whether performing his duties, or engaging in lesser activities; whatever he was told by any of the other myriad timekeeping tools or methods available to him – he knew. He had always known the instant that the day of her birth arrived in the place where it had occurred.

It was almost time.

He knelt.

Vulcans did not celebrate birthdays.

But they could honor them.


End file.
